He walks slowly to
a familiar place.
One hand on the park bench
he lowers himself to rest.
He cups a flame,
cigar smoke rises
to his hat brim,
curls upward and over.
A frenzied bevy of grackels,
scurries over scraps with
scampering feet, rapidly
changing directions.
Their troubles, easily witnessed and
his own long conquered,
contented, he rises.
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| Image by prostooleh on Freepik |
